


By Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

by ama



Series: Toccoa College [2]
Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Names, Rule 63, Trans Female Character, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuckler and Runner discuss the importance of names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this conversation result from conversations I have had with trans people of all genders or from posts by trans women on tumblr; that being said, I am cis, and if I fucked up please feel free to tell me in the comments! Also, this takes place at the beginning of the H Company peeps's sophomore year (so, one year before the first fic in this verse if anyone was curious).

There were a few disadvantages to sharing a suite with your two best friends, Runner had found. On the one hand, she always knew when they were plotting something, because the plotting typically happened in her living room. Of course, this made it impossible to get _out_ of a plot, because she could never claim ignorance. It meant they had a space big enough to fit seven or eight people if they wanted to hang around and have a drink with classmates or dormmates, as opposed to the three a normal room could contain—but also meant that she would occasionally have to pick her way out of the suite over the hungover bodies of seven or eight people. The worst thing, she thought, was occasionally finding out _far_ too much about Leckie and Hoosier’s love lives, either because she could hear them through the walls or (memorably) because she could walk in and find people in compromising positions on the shared couch.

The upside to sharing a suite with your two best friends, though, was that she could tell them to scram for a few hours and enjoy a romantic evening of Chinese food and cuddling with her girlfriend on the shared couch, and that pretty much made up for everything else.

“I think I want to keep Lew,” Chuckler said slowly. She rested her chin in her hand as she thought. “I don’t know. I mean—my mom picked it out. She specifically named me after _her_ side of the family, not my dad’s, and I want to respect that. And I think… if people aren’t actually _addressing_ me as Lew, then I don’t think it would make me feel dysphoric. You know? The name would belong to me, I wouldn’t belong to the name.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Runner agreed. “Plus it’s pretty much a unisex name anyway. Louise Nixon goes by Lou.”

“Exactly. Lou—o-u or e-w, we’ll figure that out later—Juergens is fine for me as long as there’s another name in front. And let’s face it, most people are going to call me Chuckler anyway,” she said with a snort.

Runner grinned, acknowledging the truth of it, and deftly swooped in with her chopsticks to steal a piece of sweet and sour pork from the carton in Chuckler’s hands.

“And I swear if you do that one more fucking time—”

“You’ll what?” Runner taunted.

“Something dastardly, I’m sure.”

“Ooh, dastardly. I’m terrified. Here, am I forgiven if I give you one of my dumplings?” Chuckler reached out before she had even finished the sentence, and stabbed a dumpling with her chopsticks. She held it up triumphantly and Runner laughed. “One of these days you need to learn how to use chopsticks. Seriously, this is pathetic. Okay, so, first names… how about Cindy?”

Chuckler nodded slowly, considering it, and then froze.

“Cindy… as in Cindy Lou Who? Find me something I can throw at your head.”

“Just a suggestion,” Runner laughed.

“Maybe I’ll take your name.”

“You can’t take my name, it’s mine!”

“Oh, and you have a copyright on your name?”

“Duh.”

“Tell that to the fifty Julias and two hundred Alexes on this campus.”

“You can’t take my name because it’d sound ridiculous,” Runner said stubbornly. “Willow Lou? Nope.”

Chuckler pursed her lips to acknowledge the truth in that. They were sitting on the couch with both their feet on the coffee table, legs all tangled up, and suddenly Runner felt the need to move closer. It was that awkward time of year in early October when the nights were getting chilly but building maintenance hadn’t turned on the heat yet, and Runner was emphatically not a fan of the cold. She got teased mercilessly, of course, as a girl from Buffalo should be able to deal with Georgia weather, but the fact still remained that she would rather be wearing a sweater—or, in this case, curled up against her girlfriend. She scooched closer on the couch and deliberately knocked her forehead against Chuckler’s shoulder.

“I always liked Sylvia, but it doesn’t really fit me… Katherine, maybe? But there are so many fucking Kates and Katies in our generation, I feel like it would get old real quick.”

“Probably,” Runner agreed. “Maybe it can be a legacy. What’s your grandmother’s name?”

Chuckler wrinkled her nose.

“You’re not even going to believe me.”

“What?” Runner asked, biting the inside of her cheek to keep a smile from her face.

“ _Ingeborg_.”

She clamped her teeth down but it didn’t help—a high-pitched giggle escaped her mouth.

“Shut up,” Chuckler whined.

“It’s lovely. Or, if you want to go more modern, Gertrude is always an option,” she teased, but then Chuckler’s lips twitched and she knew she had fucked up. She wasn’t sure how or why, but she knew what it meant when her lips moved like that, like Chuckler was about to purse them and had restrained herself at the last second. “What?”

“What what?”

“What was the look? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It—I just wanted to make sure… you know this means a lot to me, right?”

“Babe, of course I do.”

Runner drew away so she could turn and face her girlfriend fully, drawing her legs up onto the couch. Chuckler looked away and Runner reached out and rested her hand on her knee. After a second’s pause, Chuckler let her own hand fall on top, her thumb brushing softly back and forth. She had just removed her red nail polish a little while before, and her fingers were still tinged pink.

“Good. Because—I mean, you know me, I love to laugh and I _love_ that you make me laugh, but ultimately this isn’t a joke and… yeah.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Runner muttered. She reached over with her other hand and took Chuckler’s, frowning down at the couch. “I didn’t think—that was stupid of me. Of course this isn’t a joke, and I wasn’t trying—I just want you to feel comfortable. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chuckler said quietly. She glanced up and suddenly her face took on that startling quality that she got sometimes—the one that seemed to look right through people. It was impossible to lie to that face, difficult to keep anything from her when she asked. Runner could feel her cheeks heat up, but she managed to keep eye contact. “Be honest: does this every bother you?”

“No,” she said immediately. “I don’t… I don’t always know what to do or say, but I’m kind of disgustingly in love with you. I can’t just cut away the parts of you I don’t understand one hundred percent. You know? The fact that you’re so passionate about activism and stuff, and the fact that you’re tall enough to completely fucking cover me when you hug me—not that cis girls can’t be tall or that trans girls can’t be short—you know what, forget I used that example, it was stupid, I’m sorry, but the fact that you’re _you_ , exactly as you are, is a product of where you come from and I love all those things so I can’t just wish some of them away because then what's the point? You’re trans and you’re Chuckler and I love you, and those things are all wrapped up in each other, and stop me if I’m rambling because I feel like I’m rambling.”

“You are,” Chuckler said, and she leaned forward to drop kisses on Runner’s forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. She smiled. “But rambling sweet things, so by all means keep going.” They laughed, and then Chuckler leaned back and picked up her sweet and sour pork again. “Thank you. I mean, if you had said anything else I would’ve gotten Hoosier to beat you up, but thank you.”

“Thank you for saying something. If I fuck up, I'd rather know then keep fucking up.”

Runner scooched closer and then fell back against the couch cushions, thinking deeply.

“Theresa?” she offered finally.

“Do I look like a nun to you?” Chuckler asked, wiggling her eyebrows, and Runner bit her lip to keep from making a smart ass comment.

“Hm. Emily maybe? Emi for short? I feel like you might be an Emily, but then we run into the Kate problem again, i.e. there are five hundred million of them.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t feel like an E person.”

“What about a _ch_ person? Would it be too much to be, like, Chuckler and also Chelsea?”

Chuckler took a slow sip of her Coke as she considered it, her head tilted.

“You know, I kind of like that. Chelsea Lou Juergens. It’s got a ring to it.”

“That Comp Lit major, Chelsea. You know, Chelsea who lives in Parris. Chelsea from Chicago. My girlfriend Chelsea,” Runner offered, testing it out. “What do you think? Sounds good?”

“Sounds pretty damn great,” Chuckler said, and leaned forward for a kiss sweet with the taste of soda still clinging to her lips…

The worst thing, Runner decided, about sharing a suite with your two best friends is that they could walk in at any time and discover you in compromising positions with your girlfriend on the shared couch. Also, her friends were assholes.


End file.
